


Solace

by Beleriandings



Series: Tales of Lake Mithrim [6]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Grief, father and daughter fluff, references to Elenwë's death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 22:19:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8178211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: It's night time, what with the new lights in the sky, but Turgon can't sleep.





	

“…Atya? Is that you?”

Turgon started up at the small voice from the doorway, hastily scrubbing at his cheeks to brush away the tears there, his face burning. He turned to the door to see his daughter standing there, peering around the edge of the door warily. 

“Itarillë!” he said, voice coming in a rush. He always made an effort to be strong around her, to not show his tears. She already had enough pain, he knew, after her mother had died. After the terrible things she had seen on the Ice, that had frozen her childhood away. _And was he not the cause of it? If he had just stayed behind with his own mother, keeping his new, fragile little family at his side, a house divided but a family whole, unharmed… if he had only restrained his pride and his determination to follow his father and brother…_

He shook his head to clear it. It was no use worrying about what was past now; that was something he was learning, slowly, for he knew he must not dwell on what he could not change, whether or not it was his fault.

He owed her better, and besides, he must be strong, show nothing. 

“What is it, little one?” he came over to the door, lifting her up off her feet, which were bare against the cold ceramic tiles of the floor he noticed. He frowned, sitting down in the chair by the fire and cradling his daughter in his lap, and she snuggled close, clinging to the folds of his warm woollen tunic. “Did you have a bad dream?”

She shook her head. “Couldn’t sleep” she mumbled. She was staring up at him, tilting her head. “Atya..” she reached out a hand, touching his face very gently. “Are you sad? About Amil?”

Turgon blinked. “I…” she was growing more perceptive than he had given her credit for, and he felt a rush of shame. “Ah… no. I jsut…” - _oh, no, here it was again_ \- he swallowed a sob. “Yes” he said, looking up at the ceiling, then leaning his chin forward to lay his head against hers, smoothing her golden hair with the backs of his fingers. “Yes, little one. I am sad, because your Amil is gone from us.”

Her small hands went about his neck, fingertips cold from the chill of the night. “…Me too.”

He held her tighter. “I know, sweet. It’s hard. But…” he felt his voice stop in his throat again, cursing himself for being so bad at this. _Why didn’t he have anything to say to his own daughter, to ease her grief? What was wrong with him? Couldn’t the Valar have mercy upon him, just once? If not for his own sake, then for hers?_

_Would it ever end?_

“I’m sorry” he began, under his breath. “I’m sorry, Itarillë, I’m sorry for - ”

He drew in his breath, as he felt small hands against his cheeks, wiping his tears away. “You can cry, Atya” she said, staring up at him with wide blue eyes in the warm glow of the fire’s embers. She kissed his nose, with a conspiratorial smile. “D’you know what Auntie Irissë told me?”

He had to smile, smoothing her hair from her face. “No, but I’d love to hear. What did Auntie Irissë say?”

“She said it’s alright” said Idril, solemnly. “If you cry.“ Her own eyes were shining with tears but she smiled through them, suddenly. “It’s alright if you cry when you’re sad, Atya! Crying cleans your heart, like you clean a wound, remember? Remember when we learned that, on the Ice? That makes it heal better. Means the badness won’t set in, and it won’t turn black and freeze your life away.” She shuffled a little in his lap. “That’s what Auntie Irissë said, anyway.”

He squeezed his eyes closed, warmth and love lighting in his heart, and held her close in silence for a long time. After a moment, he drew back. “Itarillë? You know what?”

Her face was inquisitive. “Hmm?”

He dropped a quick, brushing kiss on her forehead. “She’s right.”

Her smile then was like the brightness of the new-made sun, rippling on the waters in a land where everything, just maybe, might come to heal in time. 


End file.
